The Juggernaut Wobbles But Does Not Break

The Leak prepares to face down another breakwaway

Killer Strawberries 5
Tequila Thrashers 4 (SO)

Game Report
March 13, 2008




The Killer Strawberries came perilously close to self-destruction last evening in its playoff tilt against a surprising Thrashers’ squad. By the time game was a minute and 33 seconds old, the Strawbs’ were already down 2-0, thanks to some handsome play by the normally reliable Butcher Brophey. The Butcher had obviously spent himself and his afternoon frolicking in his new “One Guy-Four Chicks” hot tub. He showed up to the arena smelling of bromine, scotch, expensive perfume and burnt latex. He was glassy-eyed, unsteady on his feet and his breath was so bad he was asked to dress in the washroom. He must have lost a little blood as well, as evidenced by the host of festering hickeys which adorned his Adonis-like frame. To say that he came unprepared and remained unprepared would be an understatement. All night long, he skated like he had tied the laces of one hockey boot to another. He looked like Beelzebub shrinking from a pyx every time the puck came within 20 feet of his confused being. Not even the presence of his main squeeze, the incredibly beautiful and talented Miss White Go Go Boots (she was also giving off olfactory hintsof a misspent afternoon) could move him from atrocious to mediocre on the hockey playing scale. The team is hopeful his post game demotion to the Nasty Cupcakes will serve as the wakeup call needed to get him back into fighting form.

By the 10 minute mark, the score had increased to 3-0. The Thrrashers had scored on 2 of its 3 breakaways and potted another on a screen shot. Fortunately, the Strawbs’ remained undaunted, knowing full well they had the manpower and cunning to get back into the game. In one of the best Machiavellian moves of the season, the Strawberries Executive, watching a live game feed to the Aloha Baby Compound in Oahu had the Butcher paged to a pay phone in the lobby of the arena. The Butcher had to take off his skates and walk over to take the call. By the time he returned to the bench, the game was virtually over. With its cancer thus excised, the Killer Strawberries notched up its play. Freight Train 444, using a Dr. Thug-like scream, convinced the zebras that a puck stuck against the opposition’s post had actually crossed the line. Archilles Perron, after repeatedly smashing his head against the back wall to wake himself from his stupour, slipped a beauty into the high left hand corner of the net: score 3-2 Thrashers.

With just 10 minutes to play, the feisty Tequilers took off on another breakaway and beat a disheartened Jesse The Leak with a fancy deke. Thrashers 4, Strawbs 2. A lesser team would have folded at this time. But not the murderous fruit. With Whoahorny going hoarse on the bench screaming obscenity-filled encouragement to his teammates, the Strawbs fought back to 4-3 with just under 5 minutes remaining. Painfully, the clocked ticked down as the Strawberries unsuccessfully swarmed the Thrasher battlements. Then, with a scant 67 seconds left til golf time, Shiny Sean emerged from his coma. Over the opponent’s blueline he swooped. Inside the opponent’s blueline he wheeled. At the top of the circle, he glanced forward and spotted Archilles picking his nose, alone at the side of the Tequila net. He fed the nasally occupied Perron with a pass so lovely it has been sent to the Smithsonian for display alongside George Bush Junior’s sole remaining brain cell. The astonished Archilles made no mistake with the biscuit. With 58.5 seconds showing on the clock, he drove the puck to very back of the net, tying the score 4-4. The fans went wild, with some of them baring many of their intimate body parts, while others were content to make proposals of marriage and no-string-attached romps in the Zamboni Room.

The Butcher, who had just returned to the bench still wondering who had tried to call him on the arena’s only public telephone, pleaded to be allowed to redeem himself on-ice. A swift chorus of “screw you, hot tub head” quickly squelched any hope he may have been harbouring. The team finished out the game and headed to the overtime shootout.

And what a shootout it was. Everyone was in a state of high anticipation as the Ice Marshall doled out the shooting privileges. Whoahorny was to go first on the strength of his well trimmed beard. Shiny Sean would follow, and Pyjama Man would close the deal. Whoahorny shot and missed. Thrasher 1 was stymied by the wily Leak. Next, Shiny Sean cut left, dropped his right shoulder, spun around, stopped to blow his nose and surreptitiously deposited the puck deep into the upper mesh of the net. The Leak slammed closed his five hole and thwarted Thrasher 2. Finally, Pyjama Man, looking a lot like a banshee on speed, screamed in, launched a rocket to the goalie’s shoulder and watched helplessly as the puck careened of the crossbar, then the post, the goalie’s leg, back to the post and out into the stands. Thrasher 3 didn’t stand a chance. The Leak blew himself up to 5 times his size and allowed not a sliver of the space-time continuum to be seen anywhere behind him. STRAWBS WIN! STRAWBS WIN!

The next game promises to a dilly. All fans are requested to attend. History is to be witnessed.

At the post game assembly, Sir Gumby congratulated the squad on its persistence, fortitude, determination and overall good luck. He raised his glass and his 5 iron, exclaiming, “It ain’t golf season yet!”

4 Bass, 5 Stella, 4 half and half, 3 Bud, 3 Bud Light, 7 Guinness, 6 Kilkenny, 4 pounds of chicken wings and some shootout euphoria were consumed.